Rendered in Code and Color

Chapter 6: Layers of Life

"Hey, mom."

Yuki, drawing from the uncanny intuition siblings share, already sensed the contents of the call. Her face fell slightly as Hiroshi's expression turned from hope to understanding.

"No, I understand.

Yeah, we'll make sure to leave some out for you.

Don't worry about it, really.

Okay, see you later.

Love you too."

The end of the call left a hollow silence. Hiroshi lowered the phone, pressing the screen off and setting it aside. His gaze met the concerned eyes of his younger sister.

"Another late night at work?" Yuki asked, her voice laced with a mixture of concern and barely concealed bitterness.

Hiroshi sighed, nodding. "Yeah."

She scoffed, "Seems to be a pattern, doesn't it? Every important occasion..."

Hiroshi reached out, placing a gentle hand on Yuki's shoulder. "Yuki, you know mom is trying her best. She works hard to keep us afloat. It's not easy for her either."

Yuki's eyes glistened, the weight of their mom's absence pressing heavily on her. "I know, Hiroshi. But sometimes it feels like she's missing out on our lives. Missing out on the moments that matter."

Hiroshi pulled her into a comforting embrace. "She loves us, Yuki. And she would be here if she could. We just need to be strong for each other."

They held onto each other for a moment, drawing strength from their bond.

Pulling away, Yuki wiped her eyes. "I guess dinner won't serve itself, huh?"

Hiroshi chuckled, "Especially not with your delicious curry on the menu."

As the two settled down at the dining table, the ambiance was a mix of the warmth of the meal and the cool evening breeze filtering through a slightly ajar window. Yuki skillfully dished out servings, her culinary prowess evident in the delightful aroma wafting from each plate.

Silence, however, was the dominant sound between them for a few moments, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery. Yuki's face was contemplative, and Hiroshi could sense her preoccupation.

"You did an amazing job with the meal, Yuki," Hiroshi complimented, hoping to dispel the quiet.

"Thanks, big bro." She said proudly. But she fell silent again as they ate. After some long minutes, she hesitantly broke the silence again. "Hey Hiro-nii... you remember that old telescope dad had? I was thinking about it today."

Hiroshi tensed slightly, the memories flooding in. "Yeah," he replied, his voice softer than usual. "He loved stargazing. Said the stars were like life, vast and mysterious, but filled with tiny lights of hope."

A wistful smile touched Yuki's lips. "He used to show me the constellations, making up playful stories about them."

She looked at her half eaten plate of curry. She couldn't meet her brother's eyes. Knowing how difficult it was for herself, she knew it was even harder for her brother to talk about. But with a quivering voice, she continued. "I wish I had more time with him... to learn from his wisdom like you did. All I have are bits and pieces and... I feel like they're fading."

Hiroshi looked down, his heart heavy. The emotional gravity of Yuki's words, combined with the weight of his own memories, seemed to push down on him. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Yuki... it's a pain that never truly goes away, but it changes with time. Dad left us too soon, and that void... it's profound. But every memory, every story, every lesson he shared with us—even if it seems like those memories are fading—we don't lose them, they become a part of us."